


The Reichenbach Fall

by lumateranlibrarian



Series: Out of 221B... [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sherlock AU, The Reichenbach Fall, and thorin is an ex-army doctor, in which Bilbo is a consulting detective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:30:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5070934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumateranlibrarian/pseuds/lumateranlibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hello?”</p>
<p>“Thorin.”</p>
<p>“God, Bilbo, are you okay? You have to get—”</p>
<p>“Thorin, stop. Turn around and go right back to where you were.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reichenbach Fall

Even in death, Bolg was smiling.

 

“Oh… oh, God,” Bilbo muttered wildly. He stumbled back, away from the body. Blood pooled around the dead man’s head, and Bolg’s eyes (one clear, one dulled with a white fog full over the iris) were wide open and manic—even if they were completely still for once.

 

_Oh, no, oh, God. Shit. Shit, fuck. No._

 

The snipers. They’d seen, they’d seen, Bilbo knew. They’d be getting into position, loading chambers and—

 

_No. Think. Use that brain of yours, Bilbo Baggins, and think. Remember your plans._

 

He stared at Bolg’s dead eye for another fraction of a second—time, a luxury he didn’t have.

 

_Stupid, stupid, idiot!_

 

Bilbo fumbled for his phone, tearing away his gaze and moving quickly to the side of the building.

 

There was a cab down below, several hundred feet away but quickly moving closer. That was fast. Was it fast? Thorin was reliable _(brave, noble, impulsive, caring)_ , of course he’d get here as soon as possible, he was like that.

 

_Lazarus_

_\--BB_

 

He jabbed the send icon with a trembling thumb.

 

 

 

 

 

Thorin was already halfway out before the car had stopped moving. The cabbie might have said something, not that Thorin cared.

 

Bolg wanted to separate them, and he’d managed it easily,  _far_ too easily. Thorin had taken one look at Hamfast’s confused, concerned face, and he’d realized. He’d gotten a fake call from a fake nurse, Bolg’s men had infiltrated the hospital where Bilbo was.

 

Where Bilbo was, _alone._

 

Thorin had barely stepped into the nearly-empty street when his phone buzzed in his coat pocket. He kept moving, flicking it open and answering.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Thorin.”

 

“God, Bilbo, are you okay? You have to get—”

 

“Thorin, stop. Turn around and go right back to where you were.”

 

Thorin stopped dead. Bilbo’s voice was cold and shaking. “No, I need—”

 

“Thorin,” Bilbo ordered. “Just… just do as I ask, _please.”_ On the last word, his voice broke.

 

“I… all right,” Thorin muttered. His eyes searched the street as he returned to the sidewalk. There were no cars coming from either direction.  “Bilbo, Bolg’s men have infiltrated the building, you need—”

 

“Now, that’s good, stop there, please,” Bilbo continued on the other end in that same odd tone of voice. It was almost as if he were distracted. “Now, look up.”

 

And because Bilbo had asked him to, Thorin did.

 

 

 

 

 

Bilbo stepped up onto the ledge carefully, and watched as Thorin—a tiny and yet utterly unmistakable figure in a fitted black Belstaff and jeans—strode back to the curb.

 

“Now, look up,” Bilbo whispered.

 

As Thorin found him, Bilbo thought errantly that he could probably see the color of Thorin’s eyes if he squinted hard enough.

 

_Won’t see those again for a long while._

_Shut up, Baggins._

 

“Fuck,” Thorin muttered, or at least Bilbo thought he did. It was so soft that between the wind on the roof and the slight crackle of the cell line, it might have been imagined. “Bilbo?”

 

“Thorin. I can’t… I can’t come down, so we’ll have to talk like this, all right?”

 

“All right.” Thorin’s voice grew softer, and much, much more cautious. “Bilbo, I don’t understand.”

 

“I’ll explain it to you, I usually have to do,” Bilbo laughed, but there was no emotion behind it. “I’m apologizing.”

 

“What for?”

 

“I’m a fraud.”

 

It was surprising, how easily those words sprang to his lips. Bilbo had imagined, while coming up with worst-case scenarios (and this was surely one of them now, looking at Thorin’s desperate, fearful body language far below him), that the words would taste sour on his tongue if he was ever forced to say them. Sour, in the same way he felt when Thorin brought home dates to 221B, or when Lobelia, in one of her exceedingly rare moments, cut at him with words he couldn’t defend. No, these words were… bitter. Bittersweet, almost, because he knew they would work.

 

_Be safe, be safe, I’m so sorry, I have to. I had to._

 

 

 

 

 

Thorin’s shoulders dropped in shock, and then tensed. He clenched his fist around his phone, so hard that the plastic creaked next to his ear.

 

“Why are you saying that?” he growled. “Bilbo, I’m coming up to—”

 

_“Stay. There.”_

 

Far above him, Bilbo moved to lower his phone, and Thorin’s heart stopped dead.

 

“All right! All right.” In a gesture he couldn’t quite justify, he held up his free hand. As if to say, _Look, no weapons, I’m safe, see?_

 

Bilbo didn’t step forward, but he didn’t step back, either.

 

“Thorin.”

 

“Bilbo.”

 

“I… _invented_ Bolg. The newspapers, the articles, they’re all right. I ruined a man’s life, I made it all up. I want you to tell Bard, I want you to tell Hamfast and Tauriel and anyone who will listen to you. I’m a fake, all right? I’m not real, I made it all up.”

 

“Bilbo, what are you talking about?”

 

“It’s not _real,_ Thorin!” Bilbo shouted desperately, and dear God, was he losing his balance up there? It was windy, even from down here Thorin could see Bilbo’s curls being tossed with the wind. “I am a fraud.”

 

“No… no you couldn’t be,” Thorin said. “Dis. Right after we met, you told me about Dis. In the sandwich shop. Bilbo, that wasn’t a lie.”

 

And then Bilbo laughed that horrible, empty laugh. “Thorin, I made that up. After we fought in the morgue at Barts? I wanted to impress you. I looked you up. I learned everything about you, and it was easy.”

 

“You’re lying to me, Bilbo!” Thorin begged desperately.

 

“No one could be that clever.”

 

“You could.”

 

 

 

 

 

_Thorin, you stubborn, stubborn bastard._

 

“No, no, Thorin. I couldn’t.”

 

Bilbo smiled crookedly, and wondered if Thorin could see it.

 

“Damn it, Bilbo! What’s going on?” Thorin gasped. He stepped off the curb.

 

“Thorin, _stay where you are!”_ Bilbo screamed into the phone. Thorin stepped backwards stiffly. Once he was back in his spot, Bilbo swallowed painfully. “It’s my note.”

 

“Your note.”

 

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” Bilbo asked. “Leave a note?”

 

“Leave a note… when?”

 

Bilbo lowered a hand he didn’t remember reaching out in the first place. He smiled, memorizing the strong line of Thorin’s shoulders, that familiar, steady military posture. He took a heartbeat to peer down at the street below him, and caught a flash of dark, rich blue.

 

“Goodbye, Thorin.”

 

“No, no, Bilbo, _please—”_

 

Bilbo tossed aside the phone in his hand, and jumped.


End file.
